I was in a coma for two months. Then they kept me in a coma for another two. Everything I know about that period of my life I have learned from others, my wife, my doctors, nurses, and even a pastor. They still call it a miracle that I came alive out of my car, crushed to half its size after it had gotten under the wheels of a giant loaded dump truck at sixty miles per hour.
The good thing about coma is not remembering all the bones I had broken, or the painful recovery from it. Nor do I remember the damage to my skull and evidently, my brain. There's proof enough that it happened though. Like I have no longer hair on my head. And my arms are so thin, all my muscles gone.
Actually, the least life threatening injury was to my crotch, my scrotum completely gone. Nothing I would have to worry about for two more months when they'd finally let me go home. If it weren't for the fact that I had grown breasts.
It's one of these amazing things, where the body and brain seem to rewire themselves, after an incredibly traumatic event. Again they used the word miracle, but this time it was related to nature healing itself. They explained it as a computer rebooting, and performing a self test, to identify all periphery attached, and making sure the right drivers are loaded to control all these devices.
My body and brain had literally restarted, after my heart had stopped for a few minutes. It detected a lack of reproductive organs and a minimal amount of female hormones, and started compensating for that. The overdose of new hormones was not detected for a while, as my injuries were so severe, and blood tests were not checking for it. It was the nurse in training that had the task of cleaning my body, who finally reported the growth on my chest, and also the reduced hair on my softening skin.
By the time I started physiotherapy I needed a sports bra. And my whole body felt different as my waistline was greatly reduced yet my rear had added fat. I had lost all my strength, which was expected after such a long period in coma. But the muscles I redeveloped were a woman's, not what they had used to be.
Initially, my wife wasn't worried. She was just happy I was still alive. But when I finally shared her bed again, after half a year, it was awkward so to say. None of my clothes fit me right anymore and it was her idea to lend me one of her nighties. I couldn't believe how comfortable it felt on my skin, that was by now as soft as hers. Which she realized now as well, as we simply hugged and slept in each other's arms.
During the day we had a similar experience. In the hospital I had worn the most basic, most boring of bra's. But trying her satin, silk and lace lingerie felt so much more comfortable. And with my male member so incredibly small, I could wear the matching panties as well. At first I wore her jogging and yoga pants, with a sweatshirt or halter top. It was perfect as well to go to physio in the hospital like that.
But as friends and family slowly suggested we visit them or they us, so they could see me again, I needed to dress better. In the beginning I borrowed one of her pantsuits, but with my bold head it was a bit awkward. The hospital however had put me in an advanced study project, in which I had to keep a diary, writing down all my new experiences. The program then would provide anything in return that I had a need for. That's how I ended up with a high quality wig, made from real hair.
To make it easier on me they glued it to my head, and that's how I became a platinum blonde. A simple next step was makeup and eventually a few small plastic surgeries. It's surprising how everybody simply accepted the new me. I was alive and that was more important than me being my old male self. Except for my wife.
During the day she was fine, we were basically girlfriends. She helped me with my dress style, which started to include more and more dresses and skirts. It was more comfortable for me than pants, due to the lasting pain related to the injuries in my crotch area. I was surprised as well how easily I adapted to wearing heels, which changed my posture dramatically and actually relieving some of the pain.
But at night she needed more and more her man back, and she was not interested in a lesbian sex life. She could live with my breasts, my female face, my soft skin, and my sexy lingerie. But she needed a dick, and I had not much to offer. Luckily my research group offered a solution. I was fitted with a very realistic rubbery prosthesis, that fit over my tiny member, held tight with some straps. And for the first time in a very long time I managed to bring my wife to an orgasm.
After a couple of weeks of healthy sex, for my wife at least, my prosthesis got an upgrade, and it would even ejaculate at the right time. I would eat her out afterwards and made her often cum another time, sometimes twice. She was happy, but it became more and more apparent that I wasn't. Until she came with a solution.
I would wear the strap-on, as we called it eventually, only for sex. It was too big and inflexible to sleep with. But one night it wasn't in my drawer. In panic I looked at my wife, only to see that she was wearing it. It was glistening with what could only be some lube. Come, she said.
She made me sit on all fours, butt sticking in the air, my face in a pillow. I could feel her finger in my rear hole, adding lube to me as well. I was scared now, there was no way that thing was going to fit in me. I whimpered when I felt the tip at my entrance, but she used some soft soothing words, as she slowly pushed in. It hurt, but not as bad as I thought it would be. It stretched me, but it didn't tear me apart.
She went so slow, moving back and forth, distributing the lube inside me. I suddenly felt very full, thinking I needed to go to the bathroom. But then things started changing. Her hands were on my hips as her dick touched something inside me, and for the first time it felt pleasurable. In reaction, before I realized what was going on, I pushed myself back into her motion, and now a wave of pleasure hit me.
It became a dance between our bodies. I was being fucked, but I was not passive. Whatever it was that she rubbed over and over, triggered some reaction in my body that I have never felt, but it was the closest to getting aroused as I would have been during sex before the accident. And when that thought hit me, my own orgasm rippled through me. It was different from what I ever experienced before, yet the euphoria was the same.
When I finally came down from my high, I could feel my wife's body covering my back, like she had collapsed on me, as her dick was still deep inside me. I felt tears running down my neck, and I could hear her sob softly. Honey, I finally managed to say, are you okay? Yes, she replied, oh yes.
It was the fact that she had been able to bring me to an orgasm, after all these months of believing it wasn't possible for me anymore. I wondered if it was one more of these things where my body had adapted to a more female role. Until I learned that men can indeed be stimulated anally, triggering ejaculations. My male member however was not involved at all.
Through the hospital my wife got her own strap-on, one that would stimulate her at the same time, and that would ejaculate inside me as we would both come together. They also provided me with some tools to cleanse my insides before sex, as well as afterwards. The ejaculation that at first I didn't care about, became more and more important, as my brain adapted to the female role during sex.
For awhile life was perfect, sexually speaking. We took turns in being the penetrator, or being on the receiving end. It was hard pulling both of during the same session, but overnight we managed both ways. The fact that she came either way and I didn't, was not important to me. It was more than ever expected after my accident. But it started feeling a bit artificial at some point, specifically for my wife.
She became more intimate with one of our friends, Leroy, a big black guy, who could have any woman he wanted, yet was still a bachelor. I started suspecting they were having sex, after I ate her out one night, and she tasted different. She hadn't wanted me to take her at first, but I had thought she looked stressed and the sex would give her some relief.
I could only come to one conclusion, yet I couldn't blame her. So one night I brought Leroy up, in a nice way, and soon she confessed her infidelity. It was just that she needed the real thing once in awhile and Leroy had been very understanding. I understood as well, and I suggested she invited him to our bed, for a threesome.
After a nervous dinner and an even more awkward start to a night of sex, I saw Leroy take my wife with his giant monster, and I understood her reasoning. Never had I been able to make her moan like that. But when it was my turn, I understood much better. He didn't take me doggie style, like I had gotten used to. He wanted to see my eyes, as they rolled back into their sockets, while he filled me up. He hit spots unknown to me, with his deeper penetration and thicker girth. I came multiple times before he shot his load into me. I saw my wife smile at me, just before I passed out.
It was so simple afterwards. Leroy moved in with us, as his need for multiple women was finally met. I learned to give him blow jobs, as my wife took him anally as well, to satisfy his continuous needs. And when my wife got pregnant, he suggested I get rid of my one last piece of manhood. It was a complicated surgery to turn my tiny member into a vagina deep enough to fit him.
I was ready to satisfy him in three holes by the time he refused to penetrate my wife in her highly pregnant state, other than through a blow job. But between the two of us, we kept him happy. My body adapted as well to her pregnancy as my breasts started producing milk. Leroy loved sucking them as I started leaking. Yet I needed everything I had once our twins were born, and my wife didn't produce enough. It was a wonderful opportunity to bond with both baby girls, and my motherhood instincts took over.
The babies were one hundred percent mine, with Leroy and my wife working. They were beautiful and I couldn't be prouder pushing a double stroller through the neighborhood. I took care of the nightly feeding and everything else, including satisfying our big stud together with my wife. She was soon pregnant again, but after three sets of twins we all agreed she tie her tubes. I could not be more happy though, my life was finally complete.